


March Into Hell

by admiralandrea



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: smallfandombang, Established Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Trauma, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23558329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiralandrea/pseuds/admiralandrea
Summary: This is an AU of how Callen meets his father and learns his name set early in season 2
Relationships: G Callen/Sam Hanna
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39
Collections: Small Fandoms Bang Round Nine





	March Into Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Awesome artwork by danceswithgary viewable at https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500282 - thank you!  
> Glitterburn did a great job of initially beta reading this - thank you!  
> skyblue_reverie then did an Ameri-pick readthrough to finish sanding off the rough edges - thank you!
> 
> Vance and Pride appear very briefly early on, so I didn't add NCIS:NOLA as a fandom.
> 
> I was very excited to be able to take part in this challenge, I hope you enjoy!

It’s a quiet Wednesday morning in the OSP office of NCIS in Los Angeles. The premier team is in the bullpen, catching up on paperwork while they wait to see if any of their new cases get more active. Later, there’s a plan for Callen and Kensi to go out undercover for another op, which pleases neither of their partners. But Deeks can’t pull off a Russian banker, and Sam definitely can’t pull off said banker’s girlfriend, so they’ll all just have to deal. Deeks and Sam will be in overwatch. They’re slowly getting better at working together, meaning that Sam now only wants to kill Deeks fifty percent of the time. It used to be about ninety-eight percent of the time, so it’s a definite improvement.

Eric’s whistle from upstairs gets their attention, and they all look up expectantly. “Callen, you’re needed in Ops,” he says, gesturing upstairs and looking somewhat uncomfortable.

“Just Callen?” Kensi asks.

Eric nods. “Sorry guys, that’s what Hetty said.”

None of them can argue with what Hetty says. Callen heads to the stairs with a shrug for his partner’s questioning look as he passes.

Once in the cool, dark room that is Eric and Nell’s domain, he finds Hetty waiting for him, big screen on standby to suggest a video call is imminent.

“Thank you, Mr. Beale, that will be all,” she tells the tech operator definitively. 

He nods and hands over his tablet before going back out the door. Callen and Hetty are the only ones left in the room.

“Hetty?” he asks.

She passes him the tablet. “Secure video call for you, Mr Callen,” she tells him. “Lock it down when I leave.”

He can see that the program to activate SCIF mode is ready and waiting on the tablet. He nods, confused, and she follows Eric out the door. As soon as it shuts behind her, Callen presses the correct button on the tablet and waits as the door and windows automatically shutter with steel. He knows his partner will be getting angry and the rest of the team nervous downstairs, because there’s no way they won’t have heard that happen.

As he puts the tablet down, the big screen comes to life, showing Director Vance in his office back at the Navy Yard in Washington D.C.

“Director?” Callen straightens from his lean against the table.

“Agent Callen.” The Director greets him with a brisk nod. “We have an urgent situation that needs your attention. I’m conferencing in Agent Pride in New Orleans.”

Callen watches him tap a couple of buttons on his computer and then the screen splits to show a man that Callen has met a few times, mostly in company with his old friend Gibbs.

“Director Vance, Agent Callen.” Dwayne Pride nods at them from what looks like a pretty small room, which must be his own SCIF in New Orleans.

“What’s the problem?” Callen asks.

“Bluebird is compromised,” Vance says in a tone that is even more serious than his usual one.

Callen swallows hard at that. “Gibbs?” 

“Is secure. Pissed, but secure,” Vance says.

Easily able to imagine it, Callen laughs a little at that. “So what do you want me to do?”

“We want you to extract our asset.” Pride gives him an intense look through the camera.

Callen steps back in shock, grasping the edge of the table behind him for support. “Me?” His voice breaks a little even with that single word.

“You were never compromised, Agent Callen,” Vance says. “Unlike Gibbs, your cover is secure. We can’t risk sending in anyone new. There isn’t time to gain Bluebird’s trust, not and ensure his safety.”

“Their,” Pride interjects and Vance raises his eyebrows. “Bluebird always preferred ‘they’,” Pride says and Vance murmurs assent.

Callen nods his acceptance. Their asset is notoriously prickly, and the op being blown likely only reinforced that, even with the amount of time that’s elapsed since then.

“So you want me to go to Russia and rescue Bluebird?” Callen asks, knowing it’s a rhetorical question. “That’ll mean going dark. Who’s going to tell Hetty and my team?”

Vance snorts. “That’s my job of course, Agent Callen. Hetty will have to manage the team herself, though.”

Callen rubs his forehead, thinking through logistics. “All right,” he says, glad the other men gave him a chance to think. “I’ll need some time to get clear, though, so can you stall once I’ve lifted the lockdown?”

“Don’t worry, Agent Callen, we’ve got you covered,” Pride reassures him. “And if you do need any help later, Agent LaSalle has some familiarity with the area and has never been identified as an NCIS agent.” 

Callen nods. “Thanks, Agent Pride.”

“My friends call me King,” Pride tells him.

Callen feels himself flush at that. He has few friends, and being invited to consider Pride a friend is a big deal. “Thank you, King,” he says softly and turns to the Director. “I’ll need about a half-hour from when I leave to get away.”

“Not a problem, Callen,” Vance says firmly. “Now go – and try and keep in touch if you can.”

Callen nods and turns to quickly divest himself of the accessories of being a federal agent – credentials, gun, phone and cuffs are all laid on the table. Because he knows how Hetty works, he also takes off his belt and shoes; either or both could have a GPS tracker embedded in them. For this reason, he’ll be heading to the boat shed where he habitually keeps a change of clothes and some other essentials stashed for situations like this.

Picking up the tablet, Callen turns back to where Vance and Pride still watch from the big screen. Not being great at goodbyes, he just nods and barely waits for the acknowledgement before he hits the button to remove the secure lock on Ops. Done, he drops the tablet to the table and heads out the side door.

It takes him down a back staircase that leads to the gym and then the motor pool. He moves fast, not allowing himself to think about what – or who – he is leaving behind. He snags the first set of keys he comes to, checking the tab to see it’s for a Mercedes. A quick press of the fob and the lights flash as it unlocks, guiding his footsteps.

As he gets in, a mental countdown is ticking in his head, telling him how long he has before Hetty is alerted to his new status and what his team might achieve in the meantime, once they realize he isn’t reappearing from the Ops center to brief them on his meeting. 

Fortunately, traffic is light between the office and the boat shed, so the drive takes Callen less than ten minutes. Once inside, he quickly strips out of his clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on the table in the interrogation room. No point annoying Hetty unnecessarily by damaging her wardrobe.

Callen lifts the trapdoor and looks down into the water, taking a few deep breaths before he carefully lowers himself down. This time of year, the water is cold and whenever he’d practiced this before, he’d worn a wetsuit. At least it’s daytime, making it easier to find the waterproof bag tied to the underside of the structure and to slide it onto his shoulders.

Then he turns away from the direction of the slip, where he’d be expected to emerge. But that way leads to cameras and people. Instead, Callen heads toward the nature reserve where he’ll be able to slip ashore undetected. From there, he can get to the airport, where he has a car hidden that will take him to his next destination.

*

While Callen makes good his escape from any possible surveillance by Eric, his team is just discovering his absence. They’d noticed the lifting of the lockdown and are waiting for Callen to emerge and let them know what’s happening.

After a while, Sam looks around for Hetty and his partner. Neither is to be seen, so he assumes that Callen is briefing their boss first. Reluctantly he goes back to his paperwork. But then he notices Hetty is back at her desk and on the phone with someone, mainly because she sounds rather strident, which is quite unlike her.

Concerned, Sam gets to his feet. Kensi and Deeks look up to see what the problem is. “Eric,” he calls to the Tech Operator, who is still in the gadget area. “Where’s Callen?”

Eric looks up. “I thought he was still in Ops.”

Sam heads that way, quickly followed by the others. He stops short just inside the doorway when he catches sight of the pile of items on the table. The others crowd up behind him, forcing Sam forward.

“Damn.” He picks up his partner’s badge and phone. “Something’s not right.”

Eric hurries to his computer. “I can still track him.”

“You can?” Deeks is surprised, but he’s still pretty new here.

“This is Callen,” Kensi says. “He has trackers in his clothes.”

Deeks looks bewildered. “Why?”

“Let’s just say he has a habit of disappearing,” Sam tells him, as he crosses to hover over Eric’s shoulder.

Eric ignores him, tapping away at his keyboard. He puts the monitoring program up on the big screen. “According to this, Callen’s at the boat shed.”

“Mr. Beale.” Hetty’s voice from the doorway makes them all jump and turn to look at the operations manager.

Eric gulps a little at her stern look. “I was just looking for Callen for the team,” he says anxiously.

“You won’t find him.”

Kensi gestures at the screen. “According to this, he’s at the boat shed.”

“His clothes will be there, but Mr. Callen will not,” Hetty tells her.

“What’s going on, Hetty?” Sam demands, starting to worry about what’s going on with his partner.

Hetty sighs. “Mr. Callen is on a classified mission.”

“And?” Sam can’t help his belligerent tone.

“That is all I can tell you, Mr. Hanna.”

Hetty’s tone isn’t one to invite discussion, but Sam tries to argue anyway. “He’s my partner, Hetty.”

She nods. “I understand, Mr. Hanna, but this mission is need to know – and we don’t.”

“We?” Deeks asks the question first.

“That is correct, Mr. Deeks, we don’t.”

From the looks on their faces, they’re all concerned about the fact that not even Hetty has been briefed on the circumstances. 

“You will make no further attempts to trace him, Mr. Beale,” Hetty says. “Director Vance was quite clear that none of us will be involved in Mr. Callen’s case or have knowledge of his whereabouts.”

Sam frowns. “And what if something goes wrong and he needs backup?”

“There is nothing more I can tell you, Mr. Hanna,” Hetty reiterates. “Now please, all of you, go back to work. I know you have plenty to do.”

“What about the Shapalov case?” Kensi asks, as they all leave Ops to troop back down to their desks.

Hetty follows them down the stairs. “You will have to devise a new plan between you.”

“All right,” Sam says. “We can do that later. Let’s finish up on the drug case from last week first.”

Kensi nods agreement and they settle back at their desks. Worrying about their missing team leader and his mysterious new mission will have to be put on hold for now.

*

Once Callen has gotten ashore at the nature reserve, he heads for a small maintenance shed. He knows it has no lock and no surveillance, because it has nothing inside that can be broken, stolen or otherwise mishandled. It’s only a few feet from the point where he emerged, much to his relief. 

He crouches down to open his bag, first removing the towel and roughly drying off, before hurriedly removing the clothes it contains and dressing quickly, shivering slightly in the cooler air of the shed. He adds boots and socks, then slips on a hoodie as well. Feeling better, he removes the final few items from the bag and adds them to the pockets of his cargo pants. 

The towel is tucked back inside the bag to take away with him, and he wastes no time in heading out again. As with all aspects of this plan, the route through the reserve was pre-determined by him and Sam some time ago, and they regularly re-run it to make sure that no problems or obstacles have cropped up.

He’s able to get away without being seen and is soon on his way to LAX. It’s several miles and he walks partway, then takes a bus for the final part, to better mix with other people. When he gets to the airport, he slowly works his way across the site until he gets to where he left a car parked. It isn’t easy, because of all the security around airports these days, but Callen is experienced at this type of undercover work, knowing exactly how to blend in and not arouse suspicion.

Even so, he’s relieved to reach the car, and slides behind the wheel, spending a few minutes just breathing as he prepares himself for the next part of his plan: get out of L.A. He has a bottle of water that he’d picked up on his way through one of the terminals, along with a sandwich, so he consumes both while he decides on the best approach to take to reach out to his contact for help.

Done eating, he pulls out the cell phone he brought with him – a burner, of course, and one that no one else knows the existence of or number for. He powers it on and dials his contact.

“Miguel, it’s Francisco,” he says, slipping into Spanish easily.

They exchange pleasantries for a while, until Miguel asks him what he needs. “Are you still looking for crew, my friend?” Callen asks.

“Always, Francisco, always,” Miguel tells him. “Why, are you offering?”

Callen nods, even though the other man can’t see. “Yes, I’m available whenever you’d like.”

“Where do you need to get to?”

He’d thought about this carefully before calling. “Anywhere in Europe would be preferable, but if you don’t have any flights there, either the Bahamas or Caribbean would be acceptable.”

Miguel laughs. “You are in luck, my friend. One of my clients is on his way back to Paris and the co-pilot just got appendicitis. If you can get here in an hour, the job is yours.”

“I’ll be there,” Callen tells him, and ends the call. 

He’ll need to change into something more suited to a man looking for a job as a pilot, but he has a bag in the trunk with some more clothes. They may not be up to the level of Hetty’s wardrobe, but they’ll be good enough to pass muster with Miguel. 

The trip through L.A. traffic to Burbank is just awkward enough to require all of Callen’s concentration, meaning he doesn’t spend the time brooding on the situation he’s in or think about how much he’s missing his connection to the team, and especially his partner, right now. He decides that’s a good thing, because he doesn’t want to think about how much he’s come to rely on the people around him at OSP or how he’s starting to think of them like a family, even Deeks.

Instead, he concentrates on the traffic and navigating his way to someplace he can stop and change. Before long he’s dressed in a casual suit and is approaching the airport. He shows his fake ID at the entrance and is relieved when it holds up. The guard directs him to long-term staff parking when he tells the man what he’s there for.

Callen locates Miguel easily at the terminal and exchanges a traditional embrace and hello with him. 

“Come, Francisco, I will introduce you to the other pilot and crew,” he says, taking hold of Callen’s bag.

Callen knows better than to argue, instead following on behind as he is led to the waiting plane. Introductions there are more formal, but still fairly casual, and he’s soon chatting to Hector, the older pilot. It doesn’t take long to convince him that Callen is up to the job, and Miguel is soon on his way back to the terminal to welcome the client and his family they’re flying to Paris.

*

Once in Paris, Callen is able to blend into the mass of humanity in Charles de Gaulle airport fairly easily. He takes his time moving through the crowds, looking for what he needs. Eventually, he finds it – a tour group going to Finland. He finesses his way into the group, taking some luggage from a struggling old lady with a few murmured words and a smile, offering her his arm at the same time. She smiles back and he stays with her all the way to the gate. It’s touch and go whether he’ll succeed in getting on the plane once there, but his pilot’s uniform and ID work and he’s soon settled in first class, accepting a bowl of fruit and some water from the smiling flight attendant.

The flight is only a few short hours, but Callen dozes through most of it, the way he always does when he’s not the one actually flying the plane. Once in Helsinki, he slips into a restroom to change out of the uniform and into his own casual clothes. He takes the uniform with him, not wanting to ditch it and risk possible attention if it’s found. 

Getting into Russia is going to be a lot trickier. He can’t risk the same sort of thing he pulled in Paris because the checks will be a lot more stringent. He’s already been traveling for over twelve hours and doesn’t know how much longer he can take to find Bluebird. Vance and Pride had no real details on the threat level to their operative, or whereabouts in Russia he might find them. 

Their mission moved around the country a lot, but had been mostly based in St. Petersburg, which is why Callen had chosen to go to Helsinki. He decides another flight is his best and fastest option. Once there, he has contacts he can connect with to try and locate Bluebird. 

But he needs a new identity for the trip into Russia. A French pilot isn’t going to cut it. He has contact information for someone in Helsinki who can provide him with papers; he just has to hope it doesn’t take too long. After some thought, he decides to go with a German identity this time. He’ll take on the persona of a textile buyer. It’s a cover he’s used before, so he already knows enough to get by.

Callen finds a quiet corner to place the call to his contact. Fortunately, the man is willing to meet with him later that afternoon. Once clear of the airport, he hops into a taxi and heads downtown. He can pretend to be a tourist for a few hours and take the opportunity to do some shopping as well, once he locates a currency exchange.

*

A couple hours later, Callen is seated in a café with a plate of pulla and an espresso. His phone is also on the table and he’s reading Die Welt while he waits for the forger to make contact. The spicy cardamom taste of the bread is a pleasing contrast to the strong coffee and it reminds him of his partner and home.

After a few minutes, a young voice gets his attention. He looks up to see a girl who can be no more than eight or nine standing at his table.

“Mr. Schneider?” she asks, in a flawless German accent.

Callen folds up his newspaper. “That’s me,” he agrees in the same language.

“I was asked to give you this.” She hands over a folded piece of paper.

He takes it and nods his thanks. The girl gives him a sweet smile before dashing away. Callen watches her go toward the restrooms before he opens the paper. There’s an address, nothing more. He frowns down at it before picking up his phone and bringing up the GPS application. Fortunately, it seems that it’s only a couple blocks away.

Callen finishes his coffee and rolls before heading out of the café, phone in hand to give him directions as he walks toward the address. It’s a pleasant afternoon and he enjoys the walk, but keeps his eyes open. It’s impossible for him to be anything other than vigilant.

He sees nothing and no one to arouse his suspicions, but once he gets closer to the building that’s his target, he sees a couple of people. Although they could pass as homeless, he suspects they’re actually guards. He slows his walk as he approaches, but neither tries to stop him from passing. 

Once at the door, he raps once and waits. After a minute, a small shutter, larger than a regular spy-hole, opens and he’s studied by someone whose features he can’t distinguish. Then the door is unlocked and opened and he’s beckoned inside. As Callen clears the threshold, he sees it’s a large, open space, typical of warehouses the world over.

A man secures the door again behind him, while a woman pats him down quickly but thoroughly before he’s beckoned forward. Callen is glad that he left his bag of supplies in a locker at the train station. The woman leads him across the warehouse to a small office on the far side. She knocks on the door, then gestures him inside when a voice calls from within. She remains outside, clearly on guard duty.

Callen waits patiently to be acknowledged while the man at the table finishes whatever he’s working on. He suddenly finds himself missing his partner with a depth of longing that surprises him. Knowing Sam is usually nearby whenever he’s undercover is something he hadn’t realized he’d come to take for granted. But he’s alone here, and wishing won’t bring him his partner.

Callen bites back a sigh, breathing deeply instead and cautioning himself to patience and circumspection.

The forger finally looks up and nods to him. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Herr Schneider,” he says, rising to wave Callen closer.

Callen nods; neither of them offers to shake hands. “It’s no problem,” he says politely, observing the necessary formalities as he takes the proffered seat.

The other man moves on quickly to why Callen is here. “You wish to obtain a German passport?”

“That is correct,” Callen agrees. “I must travel to Russia on business, but need to keep a low profile.”

“This will not be a problem, but I understand you wish it to be ready quickly?”

Callen nods. “There is a time-sensitive component to my travel.”

“This will add to the cost,” he is told.

He allows himself a small smile. “I expected no less,” he admits. “I am prepared to pay the necessary price.” Callen pulls his phone from his pocket. “I can make a payment now and the rest when it is completed.”

“Thank you.” The forger smiles as well. He opens a laptop and they make the arrangements easily enough.

After agreeing a drop-off in an hour, Callen is ready to leave. He nods farewell to the forger and is escorted back to the warehouse door by the same woman from before. Once on the street, he takes a deep breath of mostly-fresh air and heads back toward the center of the city, where he’ll have to pass a little more time while he waits for the passport to be delivered.

*

Several hours later, Callen is finally in St. Petersburg. He immediately feels better; not any less vigilant or more relaxed, but somehow the sense of urgency that’s been driving him forward feels less now. He can’t get in touch with any of his contacts just yet; it’s past their operating hours. So he checks into a mid-price hotel and settles on the floor to rest.

*

The next morning, he leaves the hotel for breakfast, going to a café frequented by one of his contacts. It’s also somewhere that he’d often met with Bluebird; not that he’s expecting them to be there. But it’s important for him to be seen, for people to know he’s back in the country. So he lingers over his food and drinks tea for a while afterwards, watching the comings and goings of regulars as well as the odd tourist who’s ventured slightly off the beaten track.

Eventually, a man in his fifties comes to the table. “May I sit here?” he asks in a local accent.

“Of course,” Callen agrees, indicating the chair opposite. 

The man settles into it with a grunt. Dmitry is one of Callen’s old contacts.

“It has been a long time, Misha,” he says as he accepts a cup of coffee from the waitress. “The usual,” he tells her, and she nods before leaving again.

Callen sips his tea for a moment. “I had to leave,” he says. “There were problems.”

The other man just nods, understanding that well enough. The waitress comes back with his breakfast and a refill for Callen, who thanks her with a small smile. 

“So why are you back?” his breakfast companion finally asks.

Though surprised by the directness, Callen doesn’t object. “I heard some rumors,” he says.

“About Sasha?”

He nods, and Dmitry grunts as he picks up his coffee again, breakfast done. After a while, he finally breaks the silence. “I heard some rumors, too. I don’t know how accurate they are, but I can find out. Where are you staying?”

Callen names the hotel and Dmitry grunts again. He pushes to his feet. “I’ll be in touch,” he says and turns away, heading to the cashier desk to pay.

Watching him go, Callen finishes his cup of tea. It’s time for him to leave too, before he arouses too many suspicions.

*

Another few hours go by. Callen meets with Dmitry again, this time in an empty shop. There are several other people there, who all work with Dmitry.

“We believe that Sasha, the one you call Bluebird, has gone to Nizhny Novgorod,” Dmitry tells him.

Callen nods, thoughtful. It will be yet another trip, but thankfully it’s only a few hours by plane. He starts to ask Dmitry where he thinks Sasha might be hiding when there’s a sudden noise and the doors and windows all smash inwards.

“Raid!” Dmitry yells, and then they’re all choking on the tear gas canisters that were fired into the room.

Callen wonders who betrayed him. He looks to Dmitry as he coughs, tears pouring from his eyes. But Dmitry looks wounded, as he gazes around the room. His attention catches on someone in a corner near the door, just as they’re surrounded by heavily-armed men in paramilitary uniforms. Callen can just about make out the figure of a much younger man. He’d noticed him earlier when he’d been led into the room, because the young man looks so much like Dmitry.

His contact’s expression tells Callen all he needs to know about the source of the leak, and he feels sorry for the older man. He has no time for anything else, though. A gun smashes into the side of his head. Pain explodes through it, and seconds later, darkness descends. 

*

The insistent ringing of his phone eventually gets Sam Hanna’s attention, dragging him from sleep. He gropes the device into his hand and stabs a finger at the button to accept the call.

“What?” he asks, brusquely.

“Sam?” He recognizes the voice of their new Intelligence Analyst in the tentative question and curses mentally as he slips out of bed and goes in search of his clothes. There’s only one reason why Nell Jones would be calling him at – he checks his watch and his cursing slips into Arabic – 0300.

“What’s going on, Nell?” he remembers to ask as he pulls up his jeans.

“We need you in Ops,” she says hesitantly and he frowns, wondering why it’s her, not Eric, making the call.

He grabs his shirt and moves the phone long enough to get the garment over his head. “New case?” he asks as he pushes his arms through the sleeves.

“No.” Nell sounds even more uncertain now.

Sam reaches for his gun, wallet and keys, frowning as he heads for the door. “Then what’s up?” 

“It’s Agent Callen,” she says, and ice dumps into Sam’s veins.

He keeps going toward his car. “What about G?”

“I don’t know, just that Hetty asked me to get you in here ASAP,” Nell tells him.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Sam hangs up, throws the phone on the passenger seat, and guns the engine. 

It’s been just over three weeks since Callen walked out of Ops and disappeared. None of them have heard anything since, Hetty included, which bothers Sam a great deal. None of the careful feelers they’ve put out have netted any information either, so they’ve all come to the conclusion he must be out of the country, though where, they have no idea. And Vance isn’t telling anyone anything either, even though Hetty took a trip back to Washington D.C. just to see if he’d give her information in person that he couldn’t be forthcoming with over the phone.

As soon as he gets to OSP, Sam heads straight up the stairs to the Ops center, ignoring the fact that most of the building is still in darkness in deference to the time of night. He finds Hetty and Nell the only ones inside. As soon as she sees him, Nell nods and slips out the door. Hetty doesn’t greet him, just locks down the room into SCIF mode, reminding Sam of the day his partner left.

“Hetty?”

She gives him a grave look. “I have received intelligence that Mr. Callen is in Russia. He has been captured by unknown parties and they are asking for five million dollars to return him.”

In deference to Hetty, Sam’s cursing is colorful, for all that it’s in Arabic. Though he doubts she’s unfamiliar with the language, he’s trying to be polite.

“Quite,” she tells him when he eventually stops. “There is a chopper waiting to leave from Edwards in twenty minutes, so I trust your go bag is ready.”

He gives her a curt nod. It’s always ready. “Weapons?”

“You will be able to take anything you require with you,” Hetty tells him, and he takes a moment to marvel at that. “My contact will meet you on the ground, and the two of you will be working together to find and extract Mr. Callen and bring him home to us.”

Sam nods, not bothering to ask for more information about the contact or anything else. None of it matters, anyway. All he cares about is getting to his partner and bringing him home.

“I’ll go get geared up then.” Sam turns for the door.

“God speed, Mr. Hanna,” is all Hetty says, as she unlocks Ops for him to leave.

He doesn’t turn back but feels the weight of her gaze on him as he squares his shoulders and murmurs, “Inshallah.”

*

Roughly twelve hours later, Sam exits the private plane that’s flown him to Moscow. He’s received no further intel en route, but finds a man waiting with a jeep on the tarmac as soon as he’s on the ground.

“This way, please,” he’s told, with no introductions.

Sam nods and stows his gear before getting in next to the driver. “Can you tell me my destination?”

“Another flight,” is all he gets from the man.

That wasn’t exactly what Sam had meant, but he realizes the futility of further questioning. He’s taken to another private plane, this one smaller than the jet that had brought him to Russia. He grabs his bags and isn’t surprised to find the driver hasn’t followed him. 

“Please strap in, we are ready to leave,” one of the pilots calls back, not even turning to look at him.

Sam quickly does as he’s told, once he’s made sure his gear is secure. Less than twenty minutes after he landed in Moscow, he’s in the air once more. Taking out a nutrition bar, Sam thinks it’s just as well he keeps his SEAL mentality when he packs his go bag. He has food and water with him to keep him fueled for this journey to rescue his partner. 

He reflects on how often he seems to be rescuing his partner from trouble of one sort or another, though at least this is the first time he’s had to go around the world to do it. 

This flight is quite short by comparison to the last one. Barely an hour after taking off, they’re landing again. He has had no interaction with the crew during the flight, and now they just tell him when he’s able to exit the plane.

When he gets on the tarmac this time, it is to find yet another man with a jeep waiting for him. This jeep is far more rickety-looking than the last one, and the man is a lot older, too. Sam judges him to actually be Russian, rather than American, as the last guy was.

“Welcome to Nizhny,” he’s told in heavily-accented English. Again, he isn’t given a name, so Sam just nods as he once more stows his bags in the back of the vehicle before climbing in next to the driver.

With complete confidence, the driver takes them across the grounds of the airport and onto a main highway. They don’t encounter any sort of checkpoint as they exit the facility. It surprises Sam, but he trusts that his guide knows what he’s doing and that he’s safe for the moment. It would be an elaborate set-up to get him all the way out here just to capture him as well.

A few miles down the highway, the driver pulls over to the side of the road and parks. Sam is tense, ready for action, but all that happens is the driver turns to him and holds out a hand.

“My name is Garrison, Agent Hanna,” he says.

Sam takes the hand and shakes. “Pleased to meet you,” he replies. “Call me Sam.”

“Sam,” Garrison agrees with a nod. “We are here to rescue your partner, and hopefully the asset he came here to extract.”

Sam raises his eyebrows at that. “Asset?”

“Known to your people as Bluebird, Sasha Molotov worked with Misha and the rest of his team some years ago,” Garrison tells him.

Sam frowns. “Who is Misha?”

Garrison mutters something that Sam is fairly sure is an expletive. “Misha is the name your partner used while he worked here.” 

“Okay,” Sam says. “So what’s our plan here?”

“I will take you to my base of operations,” Garrison says. “There I can brief you further and we can make a proper plan to find and rescue our people.”

“Find and rescue them?” Sam picks up on that straight away.

Garrison grimaces. “I believe I know where they are being held, but have not yet been able to get visual confirmation.”

Sam exhales; this is worse than he’d thought. “Only you, G,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head.

Garrison doesn’t say anything to that; he just starts the jeep again. “We must get off the streets.”

“Sure,” Sam agrees, and settles back into his seat as they head off down the highway once more. He wonders exactly what mess his partner has gotten himself into this time and hopes they can extract him in one piece.

*

In the end, they decide to go into the location blind. Garrison believes it’s dangerous to wait too much longer and Sam is inclined to agree. It’s a literal safe house, in a quiet residential street. Sam had been concerned about being seen approaching, but they go under cover of darkness and slip easily through the streets to the address.

Garrison goes through the front, while Sam takes the back door. They find no sentries at the address, and once inside, clear the rooms methodically. It’s disturbingly empty in the house, until they move downstairs to a basement. Sam almost rolls his eyes at how cliché it all is, except that his partner might be down here.

However, all they find is a body.

Garrison makes a sound of distress. “It is Sasha.”

Sam takes a photo to send to Hetty for verification, using the sat phone she gave him to call it in.

“Hetty?” he says when she answers.

“What’s the sit rep, Mr. Hanna?” she asks calmly.

He isn’t happy with what he has to tell her. “We found a body. Bluebird,” he adds. “But no sign of G.”

Hetty’s noise is similar to the one that Garrison made. “What’s your assessment?” 

“There’s evidence that G was here,” Sam tells her as he runs a practiced eye over the room. “But at present we’ve got nothing to say where he was taken.”

“But you believe he is still alive?” Hetty’s voice is sharp.

Sam nods even though she can’t see, watching Garrison search the room thoroughly. “Yeah, because they left Bluebird’s body. Why would they take another corpse?”

It’s a bit harsh, but it helps Sam keep control.

“Why indeed?” Hetty agrees. “It wouldn’t be needed for proof of death. Very well, Mr. Hanna, you’ll keep looking?”

“Of course,” he says. “We’re going to do a thorough search for something to help us, although this place is pretty bare. I’ll call again when we’re done.”

“I look forward to hearing from you,” Hetty tells him, and the call ends.

Sam pockets the phone again. “So let’s see what you left me, G,” he murmurs to himself.

Garrison looks across at him. “Why do you call him G?”

Sam glances over as he studies some marks on the floor. “He doesn’t know his name.”

Apparently startled by that, Garrison doesn’t say any more, just goes back to his search of a tall metal cabinet in the corner. Sam bends down closer to look at the marks again, not sure if they are meant to indicate a direction or if they’re just random wear and tear.

He finally calls Garrison over to see if he can make sense of the marks. The older man gets down on his knees and peers at them closely. Then he goes pale and sits back abruptly.

“Garrison?” Sam asks in alarm, wondering what would provoke such a reaction.

“I need your phone.” His voice is hoarse. “I must speak with your boss immediately.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, but pulls out the phone and turns it on. When Hetty answers, he passes it to Garrison. He gets a nod from the other man, who immediately starts speaking in Russian. Sam doesn’t know enough of the language to be able to understand what he’s saying, so he just watches as Garrison starts to pace around the room while talking.

After a lengthy conversation, he passes the phone back to Sam. “Henrietta wishes to speak with you.”

Sam takes the phone. “Mr. Hanna, you will be going to Romania with Garrison,” she tells him immediately, before Sam can speak.

“Okay,” he agrees, somewhat confused. “What’s going on, Hetty?”

“Garrison will explain on the way,” she tells him. “You must hurry, your partner is in even graver danger than I first realized.” 

Sam inhales sharply. Hetty sounds as serious as he has ever heard her, even worse than after Callen got shot five times that day in Venice.

“And, Mr. Hanna,” Hetty’s voice gets his attention again. “Stick as close to Garrison as you can. Your partner’s life depends on it.”

Before Sam can respond, the phone goes dead. Sam looks at it in surprise, before turning it off and tucking it into his pocket again. Garrison is already by the steps out of the basement and Sam hurries to him, taking Hetty’s words to heart.

“Let’s go,” he says, and gestures Garrison to lead the way. He gets an abrupt nod in turn and they quickly rush up the stairs and from the house, heading through the streets back to their car, urgency guiding their every step.

*

Callen comes awake with an involuntary groan, coughing as he blinks fuzzily, trying to work out where he is and what happened. His head is pounding and his mouth is dry, suggesting a concussion and a prolonged period of unconsciousness. There’s a chemical taste in his mouth, too, which suggests he’s been drugged. None of this is good news.

He tries to move, to see where he is, but quickly discovers that he’s restrained – and that he’s only wearing his underwear. “Fuck,” he mutters. This really isn’t good news. Neither are the various aches and pains throughout his body, which tell him he’s been beaten as well.

“Another fine mess you’ve gotten into, G,” he tells himself as he tries to focus enough to work out where he is now. 

After a while he’s able to make out that it’s another basement. He knows it’s different than where he was before because the walls here are freshly painted white, unlike the dingy gray where he was previously. That’s all he can discern from his position, because he can’t see anything but the walls. The door must be behind him, which is a serious disadvantage – right along with being zip-tied to a chair wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. 

Especially when said chair is apparently also bolted to the floor, because nothing he does causes it to shift so much as an inch. Instead all Callen succeeds in doing is making himself nauseous. He has no desire to throw up when he doesn’t know how long he’ll be stuck here alone, so he forces himself to breathe as deeply as possible until the feeling passes.

That also means his chest hurts more, telling him his ribs are definitely fractured. He’s fairly sure his collarbone is also broken, along with the wrist and fingers on the same side. The fact that it’s his left, and therefore not his dominant, side is very small consolation.

*

The next time Callen wakes up, there are voices behind him, arguing in a language he’s not familiar with. They sound pretty unhappy. He gives an involuntary groan, his head still pounding. The dryness of his mouth and his swollen tongue tell him the headache is caused as much by dehydration as by the concussion.

The voices all stop when they hear his moan, then one says something sharply and there’s the sound of people leaving. A scuff of a shoe tells him he’s not alone, though, and a moment later a man comes into his line of sight.

“I have water for you,” the man says in heavily-accented English.

Callen peers at him as best he can with his fuzzy vision. He doesn’t recognize the guy, which isn’t particularly a surprise. As he watches, the man opens a bottle of water and pushes a straw into it. He holds it out to Callen, who sips gratefully. 

The water is withdrawn, and he can’t help the noise of disappointment he makes. “You can have more later,” he’s told. “You don’t want to vomit. It has been a few days since anyone attended you.” 

He doesn’t risk nodding, just manages to croak out an “okay,” instead. Callen sits there, eyes closed, tired despite himself but still aware of the man’s stare.

“You have caused my family a great deal of trouble,” he’s finally told.

Callen would like to shrug and point out that they’ve caused him plenty, too; but despite what Sam would say, he can hold back the snark on occasion. Besides, it’d only make him feel worse if he tried, so he keeps his mouth shut and his head down.

After a few more minutes of silence, the bottle is held to his mouth again and Callen sips some more. Then the bottle is jerked away and they both look up, hearing the distant but unmistakable sound of gunfire. Callen hardly dares to hope it’s someone here for him. 

The bottle is dropped on the floor and he barely manages not to groan in disappointment. 

The man withdraws takes out a gun. “You will stay silent,” he tells Callen in a stern voice. “I do not wish to shoot you, because it would displease the head of the family greatly, but I will if I have to.”

Callen looks at him, lips pressed together. He couldn’t yell even if he wanted to, and no way is he going to risk a nod of agreement or any other movement that might make him pass out. Instead he just stares back as best he can, jaw clenched. The man gives him a brisk nod, then disappears from view. Callen guesses he’s going to wait by the door. 

The shooting gets closer, and Callen irrationally hopes it’s a rescue.

“If you come any closer, I will kill him,” the man yells loudly from behind him.

Callen flinches as he hears the sound of shots coming from outside the room. But he knows the man holding him hostage has good cover behind the door and is returning fire easily. 

He barely hears the sound of breaking glass, but the thud of a body hitting the ground behind him is unmistakable. He manages to look up and sees a narrow window he hadn’t noticed before. The grimy glass has a hole in it, and a shadowy figure stands behind it.

“I have eyes on Callen,” the familiar voice of Kensi calls out, and Callen feels himself relax all at once, knowing his team is here. “Callen,” she calls to him, and he forces himself to look up at her.

“He’s alive and conscious,” he hears her say, and guesses she’s on comms with whoever else is here.

His head drops again as he struggles to stay conscious. He really wants to see his partner before he lets go, so he bites his lip hard to force himself to focus.

Moments later, he’s rewarded by the sound of heavy footsteps and a familiar grunt behind him. The door screeches, and Callen guesses that Sam is shoving his way in past the guy Kensi killed.

“G!” And that is the very familiar sound of his partner calling his name, sounding worried and exasperated and several other things all at once.

“Hey Sam,” he manages to croak out, looking up at the tall figure looming over him, dressed all in black and with his gun in one hand.

Sam kneels in front of Callen, a frown gracing his handsome features. “This is a fine mess, partner,” he says softly, and Callen can’t help a snort at the familiar phrase.

Pulling out a knife, Sam makes short work of the zip-ties on his ankles and wrists. Callen gives a small sigh at the release of pressure, but makes no attempt to move.

“G?” Sam tilts his chin up. “What’s the sit rep?”

Callen takes a breath, comforted even by that brief touch. “Not good,” he manages wryly.

Sam strips off the pack he’s wearing on his back and roots around in it, coming up with a canteen. Callen gratefully sips at the lukewarm water, coughing a bit as some dribbles down his chin. Sam swipes it off with a thumb and Callen feels himself lean forward a little, only to groan as his injuries all report in at once.

“How is he?” The strange male voice from behind makes Callen flinch, and he groans again.

Sam puts a hand on his arm. “Steady,” he murmurs. “We need a medical evac,” he says more loudly to the other man.

“I will call it in,” comes the reply.

Callen listens to the man’s steps recede before speaking. “Where are we?”

“Romania,” Sam says. “What can you tell me about your injuries?”

He frowns, the response unexpected, but puts it aside for now. “Lots of broken bones on my left side,” he says. “Wrist, fingers, collarbone, ribs. Concussion, bruising and dehydration.”

He has to stop then, taking in the murderous glare on his partner’s face, but unable to soothe him as he starts to cough.

Sam puts an arm around his shoulders gently, holding him through it before giving him more water. Callen sips slowly, grateful for Sam’s presence and support. 

“Can I get a shirt?” he grumbles eventually. “I’m cold.”

Sam frowns and touches his forehead. “You’re burning up.” 

Callen manages not to shrug. “So I have an infection somewhere.”

“Let’s wait for the medics,” Sam tells him. “I don’t want to move you at all until they can check you over. We’re secure here and they shouldn’t be long.”

Callen sighs, but doesn’t bother to argue. Sam has that tone of voice that tells him it would be a waste of breath to even try. At least his partner is staying close, helping him keep a little bit warm.

A sound at the door catches his attention, and Sam looks up. “Kensi.”

Moments later, she’s in front of him. “Oh Callen,” she says with a sigh.

He forces a smile. “Hey, Kens.”

She shakes her head. “Medics are en route,” she tells Sam. “Deeks is waiting for them.”

“And Garrison?”

“Is searching the place, though I have no idea what he’s looking for.”

“All right, maybe go keep an eye on him, then?” Sam suggests.

Kensi smirks with a two-fingered salute. “Sure.” A moment later she’s gone again. 

*

A while later, Deeks brings in the medics. Callen manages to rouse enough to look up when the detective presses a fleeting touch to his shoulder, before leaving again. Sam nods at him as he moves back to give the two medics room to work.

Callen feels bereft as soon as Sam’s warm presence is gone. He fights to stay conscious through the various checks and tests the medics perform on him. He murmurs answers to their questions, though mostly he can’t tell them what they want to know.

Sam steps in with some of the information about how long he might have been here while the female medic deftly inserts an IV into his arm. He admires her light touch, especially after she’d commented on how dehydrated he was, making it more difficult. He almost doesn’t notice the needle going in, which is impressive given how much he hates the damn things.

“All right, Agent Callen,” she says when she’s done. “We need to transfer you to the gurney now.”

Callen can’t help a groan of dismay. This is going to suck big time.

“I know,” she tells him sympathetically. “But we’re going to do all the work, and your partner is going to help as well.”

“Okay,” he agrees reluctantly.

Sam comes back to his side and confers briefly with the medics, before reaching out to put his arm around Callen’s shoulder on his right, uninjured, side. They lift him to his feet and Callen immediately whimpers at the change as blood rushes to the parts of him that’ve been stuck in one position for too long.

He manages to hold back the urge to vomit, but as soon as they try to get him to the gurney, he moans as everything reports back in at once, loudly. When the darkness beckons, he welcomes its embrace with relief. 

*

Fortunately for Callen, both Sam and the medics had been prepared for him to pass out once he was upright, so they’re braced to take his weight. Sam takes most of it, used to this from other times in the past when his partner has been injured. They get Callen on the gurney with a minimum of fuss, and the medics are soon wheeling him back through the house toward the chopper waiting outside.

Sam meets up with the other half of the team in the kitchen, where they wait with Garrison.

“How is he?” Kensi voices the question they all want answered.

Sam shakes his head. “Not good,” he admits. “But he’s in good hands now and they’ll get him stabilized for transfer to Landstuhl for evaluation and treatment. He’ll be on a medevac home in no time.”

“What about us?” Deeks asks, and Sam is reminded this is pretty far outside both the detective’s jurisdiction and his experience.

“We’ll follow to Mihail Kogălniceanu,” Sam tells him. “Once we check in with Hetty, she’ll let us know whether she wants us to stay with G or head straight home.”

Garrison clears his throat and Sam looks at him. “I would stay with you,” he says. “I have matters to discuss with Miss Lange.”

“Of course,” Sam agrees.

They’re outside now, watching as the chopper with Callen on board takes off for the short flight to safety. Once it’s in the air and heading away from them, Sam leads the way to their cars. 

“You okay to follow?” he asks Kensi, preferring to stick with Garrison while the partners stay together.

She nods confidently. “Of course. It’s not far, is it?”

“Less than twenty miles,” Sam tells her. “Stay close behind me.”

She smiles. “We’ll be fine, Sam,” she tells him.

He knows he’s fussing a little, but in the absence of his partner to watch over, now he’s safe, Sam can’t quite help himself. He nods at Kensi and Deeks, then joins Garrison in the other car. He’d prefer to be driving, but it’s Garrison’s car, so he has to content himself with being the passenger instead. He can do it. He does let Callen drive occasionally, after all; it’s just that he prefers to be the one in control.

*

The next time Callen is fully aware of his surroundings, he’s in a hospital room. The beeping of monitors and the antiseptic smell are a dead giveaway, familiar to him after too many similar occasions. The weight on his bed next to his hip is also familiar from the last time he spent an extended stay in hospital. Then, Sam had the excuse of protection, because they didn’t know who shot him. Now, he doesn’t know how Sam is getting away with it, because wherever here might be, Callen’s pretty sure it’s nowhere near where he got shot.

He doesn’t remember much since they’d found him in what Sam said was Romania, but he does remember the medics and a helo, and has a vague memory of another flight, too.

Callen decides he’s not too bothered about the truth of the situation, and pauses mentally to examine that knowledge. He realizes it’s the drugs talking, because they clearly have him on something strong from the cotton-wool feel to his thoughts and the distinct lack of the many pains he remembers from captivity.

If he wasn’t so drugged up, he’d be unhappy about the fact they drugged him, which is a weird dichotomy that quickly lends itself to a headache. He gives up on the mental struggle and just lies there, floating in his narcotic bubble. Someone will be along to disturb them soon enough, Callen is sure, so he keeps his eyes closed and lets himself enjoy the lack of pain and the feeling of temporary security.

*

The next couple of times Callen wakes up, Sam is always beside him, there to smile at him and offer some words of comfort in the brief periods of lucidity before he slips back under again. He barely has time to wonder where they are or how he’s doing before Sam encourages him to press the pain relief button, which soon sends him back to sleep.

Then he wakes up and sees Sam sitting next to him on his left side, back to the door. Callen frowns. It’s a tactical error, one Sam would never normally make. Then two shots ring out, and Sam sports a look of surprise before slumping down in his chair. Callen cries out in shock and anger, lunging toward him from the bed.

The clamor of monitor alarms going off and a hand on his arm jolt him back to reality. “Sam,” he gasps when he recognizes his partner, whole and alive.

“The one and only.” Sam nods.

The door opening gets Callen’s attention, but it’s a nurse. Sam doesn’t look concerned, so they must be All right.

“What’s going on?” she asks as she approaches the bed, where Sam is straightening out the disheveled bedding as well as the various wires and tubes.

Sam spares her a brief glance as she silences the alarm on the heart monitor. “Just a nightmare.”

She checks her watch. “You’re due for some more pain relief, Mr. Temple,” she says, reaching for the button.

“No!” Callen’s response is instinctive as he pulls it away from her.

She tuts at him, but fortunately another voice from the door intervenes before it can get ugly. “That will be all, Nurse Morris,” is the authoritative command.

“Yes, Dr. McKenzie.” The nurse gives him one last glance before leaving.

Callen sighs in relief, feeling Sam’s reassuring grip on his good shoulder as he assesses the approaching figure. 

“Dr. McKenzie, officer in charge of your care,” Sam murmurs as he finishes his busywork around Callen’s bed and resumes his seat.

“I was warned of your problems with the extended use of narcotics,” she tells Callen as she casts a practiced eye over the monitors, then picks up his chart and checks it.

Callen glances back at Sam. “You were?”

“Your boss gave me a very thorough briefing.” Dr. McKenzie lays emphasis on the word ‘thorough’.

Confused now, Callen frowns. “You spoke to Hetty?”

“Hetty was most instructive about your care, as was your partner here.” The doctor has a smile on her face, so she obviously didn’t mind the lecture.

“They’re a bit over-protective,” Callen manages in an apologetic tone.

She smiles again. “Yes, I got that. However, you do still need some pain relief yet, so I have something else that they both assure me is quite suitable and won’t give you any problems.”

“Okay.” Callen doesn’t argue, because truth is, everything still hurts a lot and he’s already struggling to stay coherent.

He watches her inject something into his IV, then closes his eyes, accepting Sam’s gentle instruction to “Rest some more, G, I’ve got your back.”

*

The next time Callen wakes up, it’s a lot less dramatic and he feels a little more with it generally. He’s surprised to find himself alone, and wonders where Sam has gone. The door to his room opens as he’s pondering this question, and to his surprise, Hetty walks in.

“Mr. Callen.” She smiles warmly at him as she approaches his bedside.

“Is everything All right?” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

She shakes her head at him. “Hardly, Mr. Callen.”

“What’s happened to Sam?”

“Mr. Hanna has gone to the BOQ to get some sleep,” she tells him, taking his partner’s usual seat at his bedside.

“So why are you here?” He still doesn’t understand why their boss would fly nearly ten thousand miles if there isn’t a problem.

She shakes her head at him. “I’m here for you, Mr. Callen.”

He just stares, not understanding. “I’m fine.”

“Your current position and circumstances would suggest otherwise.”

Callen shrugs, or tries to, but ends up wincing instead. “Okay, you might have a point,” he concedes. “But I’m really not that bad.”

“Your doctor would disagree,” Hetty says tartly. “And you were a lot worse. But that’s not strictly why I’m here. There is someone who needs to talk to you about your family and why exactly you were in Romania, and I needed to be here for that.”

He gives her a wide-eyed gaze. “I’m either too drugged or not drugged enough. This conversation is making no sense even from you, Hetty.”

“Oh dear,” she says. “Perhaps I need to let you rest some more first.”

As if on cue, the door swings open and Dr. McKenzie walks in. “Ah Henrietta, how good to see you.”

Callen just shakes his head, unable to be surprised at the fact that his doctor knows his boss. It sometimes seems like Hetty knows everybody.

“Catherine.” Hetty smiles warmly at the other woman. “Thank you for taking such good care of my boy.”

“Of course, Henrietta, I could do no less for one of your charges,” Dr McKenzie says. “However, I do need to check him over, and I believe he’d prefer if I did that without you here.”

Hetty rises from the chair. “I daresay you’re right, Catherine,” she agrees. “We can catch up later over tea.”

“I look forward to it.” She nods to Hetty, who promises to be back later as she goes out the door.

Callen slumps back against his pillow, tired and still baffled by what just happened. Hopefully the next time he sees her, Hetty’s cryptic conversation will make more sense. For now, he concentrates on the doctor, answering her questions as she examines him extremely thoroughly. It takes all his energy, and once she’s done, he’s grateful for the renewed pain medication and yet more sleep.

*

There comes a time a couple days later when Callen decides he needs answers. Fortunately, his decision coincides with his latest check-up by Dr. McKenzie. Sam sits near him, watching the examination closely.

“So, Doc,” he says, deliberately light and casual, though he knows he’s not fooling Sam for a second.

She looks up from where she’s checking his foot. “What is it?” is all she says, and he’s almost disappointed that she didn’t fall for his attempt at being charming.

“When are you going to tell me the damage, and when can I expect to get out of here and go home?”

Dr. McKenzie looks surprised at that, glancing between him and Sam. “You don’t know?”

He just about manages not to shrug, something that he still struggles with on a regular basis. “I know some of it,” he tells her. “After all, I was there for it and mostly conscious the majority of the time.”

She doesn’t say anything, just raises her eyebrows in a gesture for him to continue. So he does, deliberately not looking at Sam as he recites the laundry list of broken bones down his left side, from his collarbone to his hand.

“No soft tissue or other internal injuries. They even managed not to puncture my lung when they fractured the ribs,” he says. “For some reason they mostly ignored the leg bones, although my kneecap is smashed. And I think they’ve cut my Achilles on that side, and from the amount of time you’ve been spending on my foot, there’s clearly a problem there.”

He pauses, but Dr. McKenzie doesn’t say anything and he still can’t look at Sam. Finally, Callen goes on. “Most of it happened before I tried to escape. That was when I got the concussion, from being knocked out when they grabbed me again. When I woke up after that, Bluebird was dead and my foot was a mess. They wanted to make sure I didn’t try it again. Not long after that is when the other guys came and drugged me and took me away.”

“G.” Sam sounds sick. He reaches out to take Callen’s hand in his.

Callen feels pretty sick himself, but he’s not yet graduated to solid food, so his stomach is still mostly empty. The touch helps ground him. He doesn’t care that McKenzie is watching as they link their fingers together. 

“You’re right,” Dr. McKenzie finally says. “It seems that they used something to cut open the bottom of your foot. It’s quite deep and several inches long. That was the source of the infection that’s kept you so ill the last few days. It was also the reason for the morphine and the antibiotics we’ve had you on.”

She looks at him intently, and Callen just stares back. He’s not intimidated by her; he just wants to know what the prognosis is for his recovery.

“Tell him.” Sam’s voice isn’t loud, but it is firm. 

Dr. McKenzie looks at him, startled, before taking a deep breath. “You should make a full recovery, but we’re talking months rather than weeks. The fact that both limbs are involved means you can’t use crutches for a while, so you’ll be using a wheelchair to get around. And the injuries to your foot and the Achilles would make crutches problematic once your hand and arm have healed enough for you to use them.”

“My knee?” Callen is more concerned about that than anything else, because for some reason the sadistic bastard who did this to him took great pleasure in using repeated blows to smash it, rather than restricting it to a single blow like all the rest.

Dr. McKenzie comes closer. “As you’ve guessed, it’s the most problematic of your injuries. The surgeries you had when you came in were all fairly straightforward apart from that one. You’ll need more surgery and possibly even a replacement, depending on how things progress. But you’ll have to discuss all those things with your own doctor, once you’re back in Los Angeles.”

“And when will that be?” Callen asks softly.

“Within the next couple days,” she says, and Callen feels himself relax at that. The prospect of being back in his own environment – even with all the challenges he still faces – is a reassuring one. The thought of being at home is comforting in a way he wasn’t expecting. 

“Guess this is where you’ll be glad I live in an empty house,” he remarks to Sam. “It’ll make navigating the place a whole lot easier.”

Sam shakes his head. “Only you, G,” he mourns, albeit in a lighthearted way.

“What?” Callen pretends to be offended.

“You’re still gonna need some stuff though,” Sam points out. “A bed at the very least. You won’t be able to sleep on the floor with all of this going on.” He gestures at Callen’s body to make his point.

Callen bites his lip. “I guess,” he agrees. “Although I could probably just rent a hospital bed. That way I can easily get rid of it again once I’m better.”

“Gentlemen.” Dr. McKenzie interrupts their banter and they both look at her. “I’m glad you’re feeling more yourself,” she tells Callen. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you again, but I have other patients that need me now.”

“Of course, Doc, thank you,” Callen tells her, making an effort to be serious and sincere, and she smiles at them both before she leaves.

Callen slumps back on his pillow with a sigh, exhausted by the revelations. Hearing it all laid out so plainly was essential to him, but it doesn’t make him feel any better about things overall. This is going to be harder to come back from than being shot five times the year before. At least he’s happy to know that, yet again, Sam Hanna will be there to get him through it.

*

Later that evening, when Sam has gone to get dinner, Hetty comes to his room again. She’s been coming at this time every day since she got here. It gives Sam a break and allows Hetty to spend some time with Callen. Today, though, she’s brought another visitor with her. Callen recognizes the guy from his brief encounter during his rescue, but never got an explanation as to his identity, other than someone who helped Sam find him.

“Mr. Callen, this is Garrison,” Hetty says now as she settles into the chair at his bedside.

Callen nods. “Evening,” he says. “Thanks for helping Sam find me.”

He gets a brief smile and nod in return. “I was glad to be able to help.” Garrison’s English is heavily accented with Russian, so Callen gets a bit of a clue where the guy came from, but not why Hetty wants him here.

“We have something we need to discuss, Mr. Callen,” Hetty tells him.

He’s perfected a one-shoulder shrug the last couple days. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

She stares at him, but lets it go. “I realize you have questions about what happened to you and why you were taken to Romania. We are here this evening to give you some answers about that.”

“The first thing you should know,” Garrison says, “is that my real name is Nikita Alexsandr Reznikov.”

“Okay.” Callen draws the word out, wondering why that matters. 

Reznikov nods at him. “Your name is Grisha Aleksandrovich Nikolaev. Your mother wanted you to know where you came from.”

“My mother?” Callen’s heart is pounding and his head is ringing. He feels hollowed out, not sure what is going on. His breathing speeds up and he feels lightheaded. The world spins away. 

*

“Mr. Callen,” a female voice says to him insistently. “Mr. Callen, you need to breathe.”

He draws in a shuddering breath.

“That’s it,” the female voice says encouragingly. “Deep breath, hold it, let it out.”

He does as he’s told, face burning when he realizes what just happened.

“It’s All right,” Dr. McKenzie says, and he blinks as he realizes she’s the one who just talked him out of whatever it was that just happened.

“Sam?” he asks hoarsely.

She smiles and hands him a glass of water, straw at the ready. He sips with relief at the cool liquid. “He’ll be here in a moment.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, allowing her to take the water away again.

She takes his wrist to check his pulse, even though the monitors tell her everything. He’s grateful for the light touch grounding him, and thinks maybe she knew he needed that.

Moments later, the door opens. Sam is there, and Callen sighs with relief.

“G?” Sam comes close, gaze assessing him quickly.

The doctor withdraws discreetly and Sam sits beside him, taking Callen’s good hand in both of his. His touch is warm and familiar, and Callen feels himself relax more.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks. “I was in the middle of eating dinner when Hetty called and told me to get back here.”

“I’m sorry.” Callen tries to pull his hand back but Sam won’t let him, tightening his grip.

“That wasn’t a complaint, partner.” 

Callen forces himself to relax, not wanting the doctor back in here again. He glances at the monitor and sees his heart rate had started to climb, but is settling down again now. He takes a couple more deep breaths as he tries to make sense of what just happened.

Finally, he speaks. “That man, Garrison?” At Sam’s nod, he continues. “Isn’t really named Garrison.” 

“I guessed it might be a code name,” Sam replies.

Callen blows out a breath. “Right. Well, he and Hetty were here to tell me why those guys in Romania wanted me, but we never got that far. Did he leave?” he suddenly asks, and Sam looks confused for a second.

“Garrison?” Sam asks, before continuing. “Neither he or Hetty was outside when I got here.” 

“Oh.” Callen feels disappointed at that, but Sam goes on.

“When Hetty called me, she said they’d be back in the morning, if you were ready to hear more.” 

Callen nods at that. He’s not sure that he is ready, could ever be ready for more. But at the same time, he knows he’ll hear it, that he has to. He needs the answers that Reznikov can give him. Hetty too, apparently.

“Right, well.” He realizes he needs to tell Sam what actually happened. “His real name is Nikita Alexsandr Reznikov. And that’s not all he told me.” He pauses, swallowing hard, and Sam squeezes his hand encouragingly. “He told me my name as well.”

Sam looks confused. “Your name?”

“Grisha Aleksandrovich Nikolaev.”

“How does he know your name?” Sam asks. Then nods, obviously getting it. “He knew your mother.”

“He said my mother wanted me to know where I came from,” Callen tells him, and this time he can see that Sam really gets it.

“He’s your father?”

Feeling overwhelmed again, Callen nods, and Sam leans forward to hold him.

Callen grabs on with his good arm and feels himself come undone. He cries, shaking in Sam’s arms, not able to deal with this on top of trying to come to terms with his injuries and the prolonged period of recovery he knows he’s facing. 

Sam just keeps holding on, making soothing noises, but not otherwise saying anything, letting him get all the emotions out. No one interrupts them, for which Callen is grateful, and eventually he’s able to pull back a little.

Sam lets him go, but keeps his own hold on him, looking at his face, which is probably a mess. But all Callen sees is love and care, and it helps him settle down more.

“Sorry about your shirt.” He gestures at the large wet spot.

Sam snorts. “I’ve had worse on me than that,” he says. “Including your blood.”

Callen shudders at that and the memories it brings up. Sam lifts his hand to press a kiss to the back of it, an apology of sorts. He then passes over the box of tissues from the tray table, and Callen mops his face and blows his nose with a grimace.

After he’s done, he gets as comfortable as he can. “Will you stay?” he asks around a yawn.

“Of course.” Sam’s smile is fond, and Callen feels a surge of love for him, glad his partner is here for him, whatever crap he’s facing. “Do you need anything?”

Callen shakes his head. “Just you,” he says, not caring how sappy that is.

Sam smirks, but doesn’t call him on it. “Go to sleep, G. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Thanks.” He slurs out the word and his eyes close of their own accord. Sleep is insistent and he welcomes its embrace, knowing his partner will have his back and so very grateful for that fact.

*

The next morning, Sam tells his partner he’ll stay with him when Hetty and Reznikov return to tell the rest of their story. Callen doesn’t even make a token attempt at protest, which tells Sam exactly how bothered he is by the revelations of the previous day.

When Hetty and Reznikov arrive late morning, they find Sam firmly ensconced in the chair on Callen’s good side, their hands clasped together. Callen has a clenched jaw and fire in his eyes, almost daring his father to make something of it, and Sam has to hide a smile. Reznikov’s gaze flickers over them, but he says nothing as he settles in the chair next to Hetty.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Hetty says with a benign smile.

“Hetty.”

Sam nods at her, but Callen doesn’t say anything. He’d admitted to Sam over breakfast that he isn’t sure how he feels about the fact that the woman he calls friend and mentor has clearly kept secrets from him about his own past.

“Henrietta will tell the story,” Reznikov says in his heavily-accented English, gesturing to her as he does so.

“Sure,” Sam agrees blandly. 

He wonders how his partner is going to feel about their boss after this conversation, knowing it could irreparably fracture the relationship between the two of them. It’s probably a good thing that Callen is facing at least six months off work recovering from his injuries, because he will likely need that distance from Hetty, at least to start with.

Hetty is to the point and unemotional as she explains to Callen about his grandfather and the blood feud between his family and a Roma family called Comescu. The same family that had held him captive in Romania. 

“So if they wanted G dead, why is he still alive?” Sam asks.

“They were waiting,” Reznikov tells him.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Waiting for what?”

“Not what, who.” Callen speaks for the first time since the conversation started. “They were waiting for someone to be there before they killed me. Someone in particular wanted to witness it for themselves.”

“That is correct,” Reznikov agrees. “They were waiting for Alexa Comescu, head of the family. She has been abroad, visiting her niece Ilena, in an effort to bring her back into the family fold.”

“I’m guessing that she’s not going to be happy we took out a bunch of her family and their hired help,” Sam observes blandly.

Hetty gives an indelicate snort at that. “No, indeed, Mr. Hanna, she was not. However, we had a plan in place for her and she is no longer of any concern to us.” 

“Should I ask?” 

Hetty shakes her head at Sam’s question. “Need to know, Mr. Hanna, and neither you nor Mr. Callen need to know, beyond the fact that she is not a threat to Mr. Callen any longer.”

“So what now?” Sam asks.

“Mr Reznikov has to return to Moscow,” Hetty says. “And I must return to Los Angeles, to make sure the children haven’t burned down the office in my absence. You will stay with your partner, of course, until he is ready to return home as well, which Dr. McKenzie assures me will be soon enough.”

Sam turns to his partner, but Callen has withdrawn, eyes closed. He looks like he’s in pain and Sam thinks that it’s probably as much emotional as physical, even though he’s overdue for his next dose of meds.

“I guess we’re done here, then,” is all Sam says, looking back at Hetty.

She nods and gets up from her chair. “I have a flight this afternoon, so I will take my leave of you now, gentlemen. I look forward to seeing you when you get back. Please do keep in touch every day, Mr. Hanna.”

Sam nods back and watches her leave. Reznikov had gotten to his feet when Hetty did and he lingers for a second, looking at Callen, who still has his eyes closed. 

“I hope to see you again one day, Grisha,” he tells Callen. 

Callen doesn’t even open his eyes or bother replying, even though Sam can tell he is still awake. “It was nice meeting you,” he tells Reznikov. “Thanks for helping me find Callen.”

“Of course,” Reznikov acknowledges, then with one last glance at his son, he too leaves the room.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Sam turns back to his partner, who opens his eyes and looks at him.

“Don’t ever call me that,” he says fiercely.

“What?” Sam is confused.

“Don’t call me by that name,” Callen says. “It’s not me.”

Sam squeezes the hand he’s kept hold of throughout the whole conversation. “Of course not,” he promises. “I like calling you G.”

At that, Callen manages a smile. Sam leans over to give him a light kiss. “You need anything?”

Callen sighs. “To go back and refuse to accept that call from Vance.”

“Sorry I can’t help you with that,” Sam tells him. “Did you press your pain button?”

Another sigh. “Yeah.”

“Sorry.” Sam can’t help the apology. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to sleep, but my brain isn’t going to let me,” Callen admits.

Sam reaches to press the call button. “We’ll ask Dr. McKenzie if you can have a sedative or something to help you, then,” he says, and Callen nods agreement.

A nurse arrives quickly and Sam explains the problem. He nods and goes to fetch Dr. McKenzie immediately. 

“I was expecting this,” she tells Sam. She has a syringe already prepared, and quickly injects it into Callen’s IV.

Moments later, Callen’s expression smooths out and Sam knows he is asleep. He sighs in relief, knowing it’s for the best right now. Any conversation about today’s further revelations can wait for another time.

*

Finally, the day comes when Dr. McKenzie tells them Callen can fly home. He’s relieved and anxious all at once. While it’ll be good to be back in familiar surroundings, the fact that he feels that way makes him nervous. He’s never been one to grow roots, yet he’s been in NCIS – and OSP in particular – for long enough that he could be accused of settling down. Especially now that he has a house.

Of course, the reason why he has said house just makes him think of Hetty, and he can’t help but frown at the thought of the woman he considered a friend and mentor. Maybe even a mother figure, if he’s completely honest.

“G?” Sam’s call brings him back from introspection.

“Sorry, Big Guy, I was woolgathering.”

Sam nods in understanding. “I said, your place or mine when we get home?”

“I thought we agreed mine?” Callen asks with a frown, sure there was a conversation on that subject at some point.

“Just making sure you’re still good with that,” Sam tells him. “Because it does mean acquiring furniture and all the other amenities of modern-day living.” 

Callen frowns some more. “Pretty sure all I need is a hospital bed.”

“I am not living in an empty house,” Sam says emphatically.

Both eyebrows go up at that. “I was going to hire a nurse.”

“G, you are not going to have hired help looking after you. I’m your partner and I’ll do it.”

Callen shakes his head. “You’ll need to go back to work,” he points out. “You’ve already been stuck here with me for weeks, I can’t see Hetty agreeing to you having several more months off and breaking up the team completely.”

“Too late,” Sam tells him, triumphant gleam in his eyes. “I already got Hetty and Vance to agree to me having a sabbatical for the duration of your sick leave. And I’m way cheaper than any home nurse would be, not to mention the fringe benefits.” 

He gives an exaggerated leer, which makes Callen roll his eyes. “Pretty sure it’ll be a while before you can expect me to be of any use in that department.”

Sam sighs and takes Callen’s hand. “G, I want to do this, All right? I’m your partner,” he stresses the word. “That means I have your back regardless.”

Callen breathes out. Tears fill his eyes, making him blink. He isn’t used to anyone caring that much about him or wanting to stick around when he’s nothing but a burden.

“I was there for you after the shooting, right?” Sam asks him, with a squeeze of Callen’s hand.

Nodding, Callen accepts the tissues Sam passes him, even though it means letting go of his partner’s hand. “So I’m going to be there for you through all of this recovery, too.”

“Okay,” Callen agrees shakily.

“Okay?” Sam asks.

Callen sighs. “Okay, we’ll stay at my house and you can fill it with whatever you think necessary to help you get through the next few months as my nursemaid.”

Sam’s smile is dazzling as he leans in for a kiss. “Thank you,” he says softly, right before he presses their lips together, and Callen can’t help smiling in return.

But he pulls back when he remembers there’s a conversation he needs to have with his partner. Thinking about Hetty keeping secrets about his childhood has reminded him there’s something pretty big he’s never told Sam. And he can’t blame Hetty for what she’s done when he’s just as guilty as she is of doing the same to his partner.

“What is it, G?” Sam immediately senses his change of mood.

Callen sighs. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he says. “And you might not like it.”

“Why not?” Sam asks with a frown.

“Because Hetty isn’t the only one who’s been keeping secrets.”

Sam raises his eyebrows and waits. Callen sighs again. “Yeah,” he says. “So I may not have been aware that Hetty knew my mother, but I did know that she tracked me as a kid. And I haven’t been honest with you about when I first met her.”

“This should be a good story,” Sam says with what is clearly fake nonchalance.

Callen winces. “You know I moved around a lot as a kid. I think now at least part of that was Hetty making sure I was safe. Why else would I get moved on from good places?”

Sam nods, but doesn’t say anything, so Callen continues with his story. “When I was fifteen, I ran away from my last foster family, robbed a storage locker and got caught. They sent me to Juvie and I was there for three weeks. It was hell, so I escaped from there, too. Stole a car, but crashed it into a pole. Cops were right there behind me; my life was over. I was going to jail as an adult for that crime. Then the hand of God intervened and Hetty showed up at the roadside and saved me. She took me in and I lived with her for the next three years, until I was recruited by the CIA.”

“You joined the CIA at eighteen?” Sam asks, incredulous, then shakes his head. “Never mind, I’m not actually surprised by that at all. Clearly it runs in the family.”

Callen stares at him. “I tell you that I knew Hetty from when I was a teenager, but all you mention is me joining the Agency fresh from high school graduation?”

Sam shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, G,” he says, with more of that nonchalance, although this time Callen can tell he really isn’t bothered.

“I kept it a secret from you all this time,” he points out.

Sam looks at him. “You think you know everything about my childhood?’

Callen shakes his head. “Of course not.”

“Well then,” Sam says, matter of fact, as if that settles the matter.

Callen frowns, but Sam really doesn’t seem bothered by it, so he relaxes again. “Okay.”

Sam nods. “We’re good, G,” he says, and Callen can see he means it. 

*

When they wheel Callen off the plane, Sam can see his partner take a deep breath as he looks to the sky. It’s the first time he’s seen the sun for weeks, between captivity and the hospital at Landstuhl. And Germany had been grey and drizzly when they’d boarded the plane to come home.

Sam watches as Callen is transferred to an ambulance for the ride back to his house. Of course Callen hadn’t been happy about that. He’d been in the wheelchair for the plane ride and doesn’t like being made to lie down again. But the fact is, he’s still recovering his strength and energy, and even with painkillers his injuries still hurt a lot.

Thankfully, Callen is too polite to grumble where the medical staff can hear him, but that hasn’t stopped Sam getting an earful of whining on the last part of the journey. Now they’re on the ground, though, he’s gotten quiet again and lets the medical staff get him settled without any fuss.

The doctor and nurse who traveled with them do a handover and sign paperwork before they leave. Another set of staff will accompany them home and stay for the first night. Tomorrow, agency staff Sam has hired and that Hetty stringently vetted will take over. Not that Callen knows she was involved, but she has access to resources that Sam doesn’t and he isn’t taking any chances with his partner’s health or safety.

*

When they eventually get underway, Sam watches his partner closely. They had planned the whole trip with care to ensure Callen had enough pain relief to see him through L.A. traffic to his home. But Sam can see that Callen is still suffering, probably because of his odd tendency toward travel sickness on occasion. His partner’s complexion is pale but green around the edges, and Sam makes sure there’s a basin nearby.

Sure enough, partway through the journey he gets a miserable look on his face and Sam moves into action, grabbing the basin and lifting Callen just in time. Callen groans, as much through embarrassment as sickness, Sam knows. He hates showing weakness as much as he hates being sick, so he’ll consider this the ultimate in humiliation. Sam knows he hates to be coddled and acts accordingly, with the nurse accompanying them taking his cues from Sam.

Once it’s over, Sam has a bottle of water ready for his partner to rinse his mouth and then take a few sips. “Not much longer, G,” he tells Callen sympathetically.

Callen just groans again, turning his face away. He’s flushed now, rather than pale like before, but Sam knows it’s anger at his perceived weakness.

*

Fortunately, the rest of the journey goes more smoothly and Callen doesn’t get sick again. They soon have him inside and transfer him to the hospital bed Sam has arranged to be put in the largest room. It isn’t a bedroom – it’s is supposed to be the dining room. It has the most space, though, so it makes sense to use it.

The medical staff retreat once they have Callen settled, leaving Sam alone with his partner.

“How you doing now?” Sam asks.

Callen frowns. “Tired,” he admits reluctantly.

Sam checks his watch. “Well, you can go ahead and nap,” he suggests. “Dinner won’t be for a couple hours.” 

Callen has finally graduated back to eating normal food, although Sam is insisting on a light, healthy diet for him, which the doctor has agreed to, much to Callen’s annoyance. However, for tonight, Sam has something special planned. Hopefully by then Callen will be up to eating something different.

Callen nods and Sam makes sure the blinds are tightly closed and the light is off before leaving his partner alone, knowing he’ll appreciate some space for a while.

“Just promise me there won’t be a party,” Callen says as Sam reaches the door.

Sam turns. “What?”

“No party,” Callen repeats.

Sam shakes his head. “I wouldn’t do that to you, G,” he says, unable to completely keep the annoyance out of his tone. He knows how much Callen hates parties and surprises.

Callen blows out a breath. “I know that,” he admits with a nod. “I’m just cranky, ignore me.”

Sam smiles at him in the dimly-lit room. “I’ll let you get away with that one,” he says. “Go to sleep, partner. I’ll be back with some food in a little while.”

“’Kay,” Callen says sleepily, yawning widely as Sam opens the door.

Sam can’t help smiling again as he watches Callen’s eyes drift closed. His partner looks more like a little kid than a tough federal agent in that moment and it’s kinda cute. Not that he’d ever make the mistake of saying so out loud. He shuts the door carefully behind him and goes to investigate what else has been done in the house, wanting to make sure it’s all how he planned.

*

The day finally arrives when Callen is ready to go back to work. He’s made up with Hetty and had mandatory sessions with Nate, as well as the requisite fitness evaluations and recertification on all the various firearms. Even Sam has conceded he’s back to full fitness.

It had taken longer than expected, no thanks to his crazy ex-wife from his CIA days turning up, meaning he’d had to participate in the mission to solve her arms-smuggling case. He’d even managed to persuade Hetty to let him go to the Caymans to arrest her, which was a bonus. He certainly hadn’t objected to Sam’s insistence on going with him, and they’d enjoyed a couple of days of R&R before heading back to Los Angeles.

But the need to hide his injuries hadn’t done them any favors, especially when it comes to his leg injuries. In the end, a long discussion with his doctor had resulted in the agreement that his best option was a partial knee replacement. It meant his recovery had stretched from the original six-month estimate to nine months, but it was better for his future and his return to field agent status. 

Now the doctor’s signed off on his return to work, and so has Nate. Hetty has ensured all the paperwork to keep Human Resources happy is done, and they’re free to go home and enjoy one last evening before Callen returns to the office and jumps back into things. 

“So what do you want to do this evening?” Sam asks as he heads the Challenger toward the freeway.

Callen stretches in the passenger seat, glad of the ability to do so freely and without pain. “I was thinking dinner in sounds good,” he says, darting a quick glance sideways to catch his partner licking his lips as he studies Callen’s body.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees in a way that’s anything but casual, his attention switching back to his driving and his hands tightening their grip on the wheel.

Callen smirks to himself, pleased to see that reaction. Sam has been very restrained around him and Callen is tired of it. He’s ready to let go and have some fun, hopefully ending up with them both sweaty and sticky and worn out.

“Thai food?” he asks.

“What?” Sam looks at him as they come to a stop in traffic.

Callen reaches his cell out of his pocket. “I was thinking Thai sounds good.”

“Okay.” Sam nods, and Callen calls in an order to his favorite place. They can pick it up on the way home. 

Satisfied with the way his plan is working out, Callen turns to study the scenery as they get moving again. It’s going to be weird being back at work, but he’s looking forward to it. He has a couple plans in place for things to do over the next week, to make sure the team accepts him again, especially Deeks. Those thoughts get him through the rest of the trip back to Sam’s place, where they’d agreed to stay tonight, including the stop to get their food. 

*

Callen has a restless night, which means his partner doesn’t sleep well either. Sam thinks it’s like the early days of the shift of their partnership from merely professional to something more personal. Callen had been slow to trust, not just at work but in bed as well, and it’s taken them a long time to get to the point where Callen will sleep the night with him.

Sam has done everything in his power to get Callen to relax so he’ll sleep, but even two spectacular orgasms is apparently not enough to turn off his partner’s busy brain tonight. So they get up at dawn and go for a run, then Sam uses his considerable skills and talents again when they return to give Callen yet another mind-blowing orgasm.

When Callen rolls out of bed barely five minutes later, despite Sam still breathing heavily from his own rather spectacular orgasm, Sam sighs and says, “Give me a minute.”

“What?” Callen turns and gives him a guilty look.

Sam sighs again. “Just, let me have another minute to recover and we can go to breakfast.” They aren’t expected in the office ‘til later, so they still have plenty of time to eat first.

“Sorry.” Callen’s face is miserable as he looks at the floor, scuffing a bare foot against the carpet.

“G,” Sam says, and waits patiently for his partner to look up again. “It’s okay,” he continues. “I get why you’re nervous.” He gets up from the bed and pulls Callen to him. “You’ll be fine,” he says quietly, then kisses him slowly and gently.

When he pulls back, Callen looks a little more relaxed, so Sam considers it a win. “Come on, first day back. I’ll treat you to Patrick’s pancakes with pigs in blankets.”

Callen’s face lights up with a genuine smile. “It must be love,” he says, because that’s his favorite breakfast at his favorite diner.

“Must be,” Sam agrees, carefully not reacting to Callen using the “L” word for the first time.

They share a quick shower where all they do is get clean, before dressing and heading out, radio on and banter filling the air between them. It almost feels normal again, and Sam can feel himself smile at the ordinariness of it all. He catches Callen’s answering grin from the corner of his eye and reaches out to lace their fingers together, happy that life is back on track at last.


End file.
